Smoke
by LadyDraco917
Summary: When all your life has been planned out, what do you do when you are suddenly set free? Late at night Draco ponders his new-found freedom and confides his sorrows in the most unexpected person.


Warning: This story contains hints of shonen ai (aka boy love). So if you are uncomfortable with homosexual hit/actions, I highly suggest you stop reading now.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters and intend to make no profit from the publishing of this story.

A/N: Yeah, this is one of those hit and run fics that may develop into something later if I ever buckle down and do it. Anyway, I'm just posting this here for feed-back so I can see if this is worth my time

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Smoke

By: The Lady Draco

A small tendril of translucent smoke drifted up into the growing cloud, shifting and undulating in the moonlight streaming in from the open Astronomy tower window. A slender finger reached out, drawing aimless swirls in the smoke. It twisted and curled around the digit, moving as if attracted inexplicably to the motions. A gentle gust of wind moved the cloud over a white blond head and with the moonlight coming in from the window it gave the features of the quiet figure perched on the windowsill an ethereal quality, softening everything so it seemed otherworldly, angelic. The cigarette was brought back to a pair of thin pale lips. Inhale. Exhale. More smoke joining the growing cloud, stinging eyes the color of the sea before a storm. A delicate hand scrubbed at the irritation before removing a crumpled piece of crumpled parchment from a pants pocket hidden beneath black robes. Cigarette balanced between middle and index finger, letter in the opposite hand as slightly trembling fingers unfolded the parchment for what seemed the hundredth time. The cigarette was again raised to the pale lips as Draco read through the quickly scrawled words.

_Draco:_

_I am going to fulfill my life debt. I entrust the estate, manor, and fortune to you. You are head of the house now. Do not disappoint me. Look after your mother._

_Lucius _

The letter, although it was almost too short to be called that, had arrived exactly three days ago, and Draco was still pondering its meaning. His father had always been one to send cryptic messages, but this...this was very different. It looked as if it had been carelessly scribbled down in the midst of a flurry of activity. Very unlike Lucius, who was famous for being calm, cool, and collected at all times. What was most troubling, however, was a specific stream of words contained within. _"You are head of the house now."_ Those words had been buzzing around Draco's head like bees since the message's arrival.

"The only way that's possible..." Draco intoned to himself, "would be if he were dead." Draco stopped dead in his pondering. Dead. The thought hit him like a lighting bolt in the chest knocking that wind out of him. It's not that he particularly cared for his father. After all, you wouldn't have any sort of positive feelings for someone who beat you for 'misbehaving' only to heal you with a spell that made you relive the pain of every wound as it was being healed. And it had been Lucius who had taken out his frustration or annoyance on Draco during his childhood. It was he, after all, who had made all those years a living hell. Yes, Lucius and his alliance with The Dark Lord and his death eaters. So the prospect that his father was now dead was not terribly shocking, almost expected, although perhaps not this soon. But his father's death was something Draco had been secretly wishing and wanting for years. What troubled him now was the well being of his mother, Narcissa. He cared for her more than anyone because in those dark days of his youth she had shown him kindness and love. When the storm of Lucius's rage had blown over, she would come into the room and pick up the shattered pieces of his humanity. She would sit with Draco in her warm enfolding arms while he clung to her and she to him. Gently she would rock him back and forth while singing a lullaby until the pain had subsided and sweet unconscious sleep claimed him. Draco realized grimly that that was all over now. Yes, his father was gone and that meant so many things for him. It meant that he was free, so to speak, but his mother...her happiness would disappear along with Lucius. A memory of his mother from long ago drifted to the foreground of this thoughts. She was sitting hunched over on a settee in one of their many drawing rooms. Her hair, lovely strands of white gold just like his own, disheveled and neglected, cascading over her shoulders obscuring her face from view. A small hand moved the hair back to reveal running eyeliner and ugly stained cheeks. Sick and pale, all she did was tremble with silent sobs. Draco shook himself to rid his mind of the memory. He had seen his mother cry only once in his lifetime, when he was six years old, and he had vowed, after witnessing that horrible sight, to make sure she never looked like that again or had a reason to cry. A smirk crossed Draco's lips as he brought the cigarette to his lips and took another shuddering drag. He had failed her, and there in the quiet darkness of the tower he could almost hear her crying.

Looking at the letter from his father again, Draco ran all other possible options through his head. Could this be a test of some sort? After all, the Malfoy family was famous for their little 'tests'. He pondered this for a long while until finally he was assured that his father was dead. Draco let out a sigh full of years worth of torment and frustration. _Damn you, Lucius. How could you just leave her?_ He touched the smoldering end of his cigarette to the parchment and watched as the flames leapt to devour the words; probably his father's last, burning them away to nothing. Slowly, the flames calmed and died, leaving nothing but a pile of ash at Draco's feet. Pointing a hand at the window, it sprang open and a breeze chilled by November's touch swept in to carry the pile of ashes up and away into the night. He watched as the last remnants of the letter took flight.

"Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust," He spoke the words of a childhood rhyme. _But in the end we all fall down. _A bitter smile graced his angled features as he let the cigarette fall to the floor. Sparks flew up in a dance before dying in midair. Draco ground out the last traces of life from the cigarette butt with his heel, and sat in cold silence, staring out the open window onto the desolate nightscape grounds.

Draco was pulled rudely from his thoughts by the sound of the trapdoor, which lead to the Astronomy classroom below, being opened. Normally he would not have been caught so off guard because he usually cast detection spells that would alert him to anyone coming, or, if he was feeling daring, would simply rely on his acute senses to keep him out of trouble. But that was also in the past it seemed; he made no effort to hide his presence. The trapdoor opened fully and a boy with raven hair and emerald eyes climbed from the ladder up into the darkened observatory.

"Potter..." Draco hissed. Habits formed over six long years taking over as his self-appointed rival spun around, obviously unaware, until the blond spoke, that he was not alone. "Bit late to be starting your astronomy homework, isn't it?" Draco drawled, using his characteristic condescending tone that let Potter know just what he thought of his high and mighty attitude.

"Oh, and I suppose you being here is perfectly within school rules." Harry returned just as coolly.

"You're one to talk about breaking rules, Potter. If my memory serves me, you should have been expelled by now."

"I have you to thank for more than a fair share of that." Harry glared at Draco.

"Oh please, Potter. Don't try and blame your flagrant disregard for authority on me." Draco settled with returning Harry's glare, letting the silence stretch on between them. Green burning into blue-gray until Harry averted his eyes, noticing for the first time the smoke that was still hovering over them and the crushed cigarette at Draco's feet.

"I didn't know you smoked Malfoy." Something in Harry's tone was a little less cold than the last response. Draco caught Harry's eyes and saw curiosity dancing behind the green prisms.

"Only on special occasions, Potter." Draco pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and took another one out. Pausing for a long time, he finally extended the pack to Harry, a single cigarette poking out in offering. Harry stared at it for what to him, seemed like an eternity.

"Usually when something is offered to you, a response is expected." Draco's voice took on a teasing quality. Harry blushed slightly, nodded, and finally accepted the cigarette.

"Just trying to make sure it wasn't some insidious plot of revenge."

"Please, Potter. Give me a little credit. If I were going to do something, it wouldn't be nearly so obvious." Draco pointed a finger at himself. "I _am_ a Slytherin after all. We're much more cunning when it comes to plots of revenge." A faint smile played on Harry's lips briefly before he could stop it.

"Well, since you were so generous as to provide these," Harry drew his wand out from the inside of his robes, "Allow me to light." With that, he intoned a spell and the ends of their cigarettes flared to life.

"My, how very kind of you, Potter." The voice was still mocking, but underneath it all Harry could detect the slightest hint of sincerity.

"So, what special occasion merits a nice fag all alone in the highest part of the Astronomy tower in the middle of the night?" Draco stiffened ever so slightly. The question had been asked under the guise of a mocking almost friendly joke, but there was an undertone that told him Harry was deadly serious. _And so his true arrogance comes out. I always expected he thought he owned the whole bloody place, _Draco thought.

Allowing himself a wry smile, Draco replied, "You'll know soon enough, Potter." Harry glared, his whole mood shifting from the slightly amiable pose to a guarded stance.

"Planning something, are you Malfoy?" He spat Draco's last name out like a curse. "Found some way to get me expelled? Or have you just thought of more ways to insult my friends and me?" Sarcasm dripped from every word giving Harry's voice a tone almost as condescending as the one Draco had used on him on more than one occasion. "Oh, I know, that slimy git you call a father has finally threatened the school board into forcing Dumbledore into retirement!" The mock enthusiasm of the last statement was too much. Draco's cheeks were colored with indignant rage. He couldn't believe Potter's audacity! And mentioning his father in such a way (never mind the fact that Potter couldn't possibly know of his father's demise).

"Sod off, Potter." Draco spat, momentarily letting anger and pride take precedent over common sense. He flicked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and let it smolder on the hard wood floor before crushing it angrily beneath his heel.

"Oh, hit a soar spot, did I?" This was no longer Harry speaking to him, but some other person. And this particular person decided to take a lifetime worth of abuse and frustration and misery out on Draco. Suddenly he remembered their earlier meeting when Harry had questioned Draco on his sudden withdrawal from everyone. His concern had been met with a sneer and harsh remarks. _Could he have set me up just to get pay back? Who would of thought that the great Harry Potter could be vindictive?_

"Sod _off_, Potter! I'm warning you..."

"Or what? Daddy's not here to save your sorry arse this time."

Draco lost the little control he had left; he leapt up from his perch on the windowsill, hands balled into fists at his sides.

"Shut up! You don't know anything about my father, and for you information he can't save anyone!! He's _dead_.!" Draco shouted, chest heaving, cheeks aflame with a burst of adrenaline that sent blood to his face. He stood, guarded, waiting for a caustic response from Harry, but it never came. Silence once again claimed the room as Harry just stared open-mouthed at Draco, surprise written all over his face. It would have been quite comical given different circumstances. Both were in quiet astonishment. Had Draco really just told his rival that his father was dead? Harry's cigarette fell out of his limp hand, crashing to the floor in a shower of sparks. The sudden burst of light seemed to spur Draco into action, he pushed past the stunned Harry and was about to climb down the ladder when Harry finally came out of his stupor.

"Malfoy, wait!" He called out, turning around to face the blond boy. Draco only glared at him and began his descent.

"Malfoy!" Harry called again, but to no avail. Draco was already halfway down and was showing no signs of complying with Harry's pleas. Gritting his teeth, Harry followed Draco's path down the ladder until he reached the floor of the classroom below. Draco was striding away towards the door; Harry had to run, catching Draco just as he was about to put his hand on the doorknob. He barred the way, panting slightly, trying to stall long enough to figure out just what he was going to say. He never got a chance; Draco spoke first.

"Move, Potter." The anger bubbled up into Draco's voice, his eyes as cold and unyielding as ice.

"Look Malfoy..."

"I said, move!"

"Malfoy, would you just..."

"This is the last time I'll say it, Potter. Move!" Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry's throat.

"Just listen to me!" Harry shouted.

"You've said enough!" With that Draco shoved Harry aside and flung open the door.

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled after the retreating back. Draco descended quickly down the spiral staircase that would take him out into the regular corridors of Hogwarts. From the top of the stairs Harry called down to Draco, "Look, I'm sorry. Okay?" Draco stopped, spun around; eyes blazing, a single strand of white blond hair falling unceremoniously in his face.

"Sorry...? Sorry?!" His voice was venomous. "Sorry? Is that the best you've got? Sorry is not going to bring my father back." Harry was struck by the quiet force of Draco's voice. It was barely a whisper, but it demanded that you listen to every. Last. Word. After a seething glare that felt like it lasted an eternity, at least to Harry, Draco continued his course down the stairs.

"I know sorry won't bring him back." The voice was small, quiet, pained, and it halted Draco in mid-stride. "I know sorry could never make up for what I said, but...it's all I can offer." The voice dropped to a whisper so that even in the silent stairwell Draco had to strain to hear it. "I know what it's like to lose, and I'm sorry, and I didn't know...I didn't know." Draco took in a shaky breath to compose himself before turning around, in the doorway he saw what he knew to be Harry's silhouette but something was different. His shoulders were hunched, and even from a distance he could still see the regret and sorrow, deep long-lived sorrow dulling the usually brilliant jeweled eyes. He looked up into those eyes and recognized those eyes as the literal portrayal of what he had been feeling within himself. The feeling that he had kept carefully locked away behind his meticulously constructed walls. And as realization dawned on him, in that moment, he was aware of just how much he had been hurt too. With a resigned sigh, Draco climbed back up the stairs until he was on the step just before the doorway, looking up but avoiding those eyes he spoke.

"It's fine. You didn't know." Draco's hands were twisting the material of his robes. Noticing the betraying action, he immediately let go. After a long, awkward pause he turned to leave again, this time for good. The situation was getting much too strange for Draco's comfort.

"Wait." The word shot out in time with a hand that caught Draco's slender naked wrist, once again preventing him from escape. Green eyes opened wide as Harry felt the raised skin, so like the mark on his own forehead. Narrowing his eyes, Draco tired to pull his captive wrist free, but the hand held fast. He winced slightly from the increased pressure his struggle had instigated. He continued to feebly protest, not wanting Harry, of all people, to discover his secret. But he was unable and perhaps a little unwilling to escape.

"Let me go." It was whispered, more a request then an order. His words lacked the harshness, the authority that usually got him what he wanted. His was the voice of someone defeated.

Harry stepped down so that he was level with Draco and pulled back the other's sleeve. The moonlight shone off the milky white skin catching on thin lines of raised skin. Harry gazed as if transfixed by the maze of marks crisscrossing the pale flesh. In his shocked state, Harry's grip loosened, allowing Draco to pull his arm away and replace the sleeve of his robes to its proper place. He turned, intent on leaving this time. The situation was beyond his control and to Draco that meant danger, and when in dander you left as soon as possible. He took a step away when he again heard Harry's quiet voice from behind him, and for some inexplicable reason, he was rooted in place. Draco turned his head, cocking it slightly to one side as if to question.

Harry looked quizzically at Draco, "Why?"

A bitter smile graced his face, and with a little gesture of his hand Draco replied, "Bleeding is breathing." Turning his back, Draco descended the stairs and was gone, lost in shadow.


End file.
